


Vigil

by pettycoat



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bodyguard Romance, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gift Fic, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Medieval Society, Rare Male Slash Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-21 08:36:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19999015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pettycoat/pseuds/pettycoat
Summary: Not all confessions are spoken aloud.





	Vigil

**Author's Note:**

  * For [noxelementalist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxelementalist/gifts).



> For the 2019 Rare Male Slash Exchange, which included a prompt for "Charming Prince/His Gruff Male Bodyguard Who Tries Hard Not To Seem Too Devoted" with original characters and lots of fluff. Anyone familiar with my usual scribblings knows that this is pretty much the exact _opposite_ of what I typically write, but I took the prompt for a reason and had a lot of fun stretching my creative muscles. I _do_ enjoy sweet romances from time to time. I only hope that my giftee enjoys reading it as much as I did writing it.

It was well on the way to morning when he realized he couldn’t stay a moment longer in bed. The thought came abruptly, chilling him like a splash of ice water, yet Lucas had hardly thrown the sheet off before he’d set both feet on the carpet and draped a heavy robe around his shoulders. “Sir Alfred,” he called hoarsely, falling on habit. In an instant a lock was rattling, and his bedchamber door swung open, blinding him with a stab of light.

“Highness?” Alfred stood as a broad shape in the doorway, every muscle tense.

“Call for a cup of tea,” Lucas said, still wincing. Then he thought better of it. “Two cups. One of your choice.”

Alfred found him on his balcony. He was staring out at the trees and the moon-silvered lake, pulling shadows from shadows as the castle loomed around him. The frost was already on them, this early in the year. Alfred wordlessly passed him his cup as the steam mixed with their breath. Lucas drank long and deeply.

“Do you plan to keep me out here much longer?” Alfred asked after a long silence. “I took watch by your door to keep _out_ of this cold, Highness.”

Lucas turned, taking in Alfred’s clenched hands and stiff posture. Even if the man tried to pretend otherwise, Lucas knew the lines on his face weren’t from anger. He considered smiling and dropped the idea with no real struggle. “Later, Sir. I fear I lack the fortitude to face this night alone.”

“Another nightmare?” Alfred’s voice came softly, himself a towering shadow but for the glint of moon reflecting in his eyes.

“No,” Lucas said, breath clouding. “Not at all.”

“A chill, then,” Alfred said after a moment, drawing ever so slightly closer. His armor clinked briefly in the darkness. Lucas wondered how long it had taken for him to find that noise familiar. “Shall I fetch the healer?”

It was surprising, how easily the next words came. “No, Sir Alfred. I simply want your company.”

Another stretch of silence, broken only by the wind.

“Well let me sit then, at least. I can’t go on guarding you if my joints freeze stiff in the cold.”

Lucas had drained his cup halfway in the time it took for Alfred to drag two chairs out from his room, Alfred motioning for him to sit before the man had so much as considered taking a seat for himself. Lucas settled into his chair and swirled the tea around his cup, tracing what little steam remained along the edges of his fingertips. He considered Alfred, long enough for Alfred to breathe in and look away. At last Lucas threw his head back and drained the cup down to its last drop. A horse whickered somewhere in the shadowed stables below.

“Is that all?” Alfred asked after a moment.

Lucas set the cup on the parapet with a soft click. “Not at all, Sir.” He gnawed thoughtlessly at his nail, a habit he was sure he’d conquered at the tender age of seven. “Please, keep me talking.”

“Of what, Highness?” Alfred asked, falling back on the title as his tone grew less sure.

Lucas smiled at him. The way the winds blew, he couldn’t hear a thing. But he could see Alfred’s breath rush out of him, spiraling in the dark. “Surprise me.”

They didn’t talk of much, really. The night, the weather, whether or not a meal had agreed with Lucas’ stomach. But Lucas kept his smile easily, teeth flashing each time Alfred drew a laugh. The lines around Alfred’s eyes were growing more and more pronounced. Gradually, the space between them grew smaller.

“I don’t know who that idiot is trying to fool,” Alfred said, legs up, arms crossed. The dawn was creeping upon them, and the sky was already brightening with the first glow of morning. “That man’s hair has _never_ been black. If he wanted to hide his balding, he could have at least picked a better wig.”

“Is it that terrible?” Lucas asked with a grin, warming his hands with his breath.

“Worse. I think the Count has more wigs than his wife.”

“And what of his wife?”

“Bald as a dying pine.”

Lucas laughed, bright and unguarded. For a moment, he saw Alfred’s smile slip through. But only just.

“You’ve hardly touched your tea,” Lucas said softly.

“Coffee,” Alfred said. “Unlike you, I need to be awake.”

“Coffee, then. I wonder how effective that must be with half of it dripping into your beard?”

“Tell me when you can grow one.”

Lucas snorted. Hardly princely, but that was what made nights like these so special. He leaned back and stared out into the dark, watching the morning take shape. Frost shone in the first light of the sun, mist ghosting off the grass and stone sparkling with thinning ice. He watched fires spark in the windows and shadows fade in the trees. The sun came too quickly. He wondered if he was right to feel disappointed. Then a hand prodded his, gloved, warm, and he decided that it didn’t really matter.

“Prince Lucas,” Alfred said.

“Of course.” There always came some vague sense of loss, every morning like this, but Lucas always made himself climb steadily to his feet, no matter the burden. Alfred trailed him back into the bedchamber, a tall shadow. Neither touched the other again until they were back safe behind closed doors.

“Your lips are nearly blue,” Alfred said.

Lucas couldn’t help himself. With an opening like that, he could hardly contain his smirk. “Warm them for me.”

Alfred froze with his hand on his arm and his eyes stretched wide. His mouth opened a little, but only that. Astoundingly, a bit of color came to his cheeks. Lucas tried to hide his smile in his hand and failed utterly. Then he made another use of his mouth, leaning in gently. The brush was chaste and warm. Distantly, a church bell heralded the dawn.

“I'm feeling a little tired,” Lucas said, looking up at Alfred from beneath his hooded eyes. “I’m sure I’ve pestered you long enough.”

Alfred might have had something to say to that, but the sound that escaped his lips was more akin to a wheeze.

“Are you well, Sir Alfred?”

“Yes,” Alfred said. “Of course.”

Lucas huffed a laugh, more breath than sound. Then he took Alfred’s hand, one in both of his, and squeezed it gently. “Goodnight, Sir Alfred.”

Alfred cleared his throat and straightened. Even so, the color in his face remained. “Good morning, Prince Lucas.” His breath stuttered. “Until another night.”

Lucas smiled. “Until another dawn.” He let him go and settled into the blankets once the door swung closed, and he dreamed a little more sweetly that morning, even if he hardly had time to dream at all. The night was enough. That was all he would ever need.


End file.
